Given Away
by ThatRosieSparkle
Summary: Mello's sick of waiting around. Could be taken as Mello/Matt, but doesn't have to be.


**A/N: Yet again, I lost. The prompt was "sneeze" this time. I really love this - like, lots and lots - but there's some stiff competition out there. Enjoy!**

Given Away

A viciously cold wind drove fine strands of honey-blonde hair onto frozen skin like tiny, flaming whips, each lash stinging and making Mello bunch his face up in discomfort. He dug his hands into his fur-lined pockets and scowled, bowing his head against the biting winter air and rounding a corner.

The street he turned into was narrow and dim, feeble December sunlight struggling to brighten the litter-lined road through countless rusting fire-escapes, iron girders and billowing tarpaulins that hung loose from the broken windows and scaffolding they had once been pinned to. Mello wrinkled his nose in distaste and settled against the dirty brick wall, waiting for the dealer he was supposed to be meeting.

A hand made pale by cold fished a Hershey's bar out from one of Mello's jacket's many pockets and fumbled with the foil wrapping, ripping it unnecessarily as they shivered, scattering silver confetti onto the black tarmac he stood on. Taking a bite of the warming chocolate, Mello closed his eyes impatiently and thumped his head lightly against the wall.

He hated having to do menial tasks and routine procedures, starting at the very bottom of the Mafia's dauntingly long ladder. Over the past few months, he had been entrusted with duties slightly more exciting than the occasional threatening or debt collection, higher ranking thugs beginning to recognise his sharp mind and unnerving presence as useful tools when dealing with overly cocky suppliers or contacts. There had been whispers, too, that Mello was being considered a protégé worthy of grooming by the current head of the organisation, and it was only his short temper and tendency to lash out that was keeping him from an immediate promotion.

Still, Mello was willing to go out and prove himself if it meant dragging himself that much closer to reaching the top, and he was prepared to do anything to secure the position once he finally got there.

As he broke off another few squares of the dark chocolate with sharp, white teeth, Mello saw a flicker of movement to his left, by the entrance to the alleyway. He paused mid-bite, ice blue eyes narrowing suspiciously before he dismissed it as a stray – a cat, perhaps, sniffing after the half-rotten scraps strewn on the floor – and continued eating, silently cursing the man he had been sent to "talk to" for keeping him waiting so long in such a dismal, dreary place.

Already the sun had slunk low enough in the sky so as to be merely a fiery blur seeping over the tops of dilapidated buildings, dying light blazing bright, blinding red for the blink of an eye before slipping away behind the sky-line and begrudgingly giving its reign over to twilight. Finishing the bar, Mello stuffed the empty foil back into a pocket and huffed, bored by the dusk and quiet hanging heavy in the alleyway. The low, gentle rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance, and the skitter of discarded paper getting blown along the floor occasionally bristled in Mello's ears. He concentrated hard on listening, striving to hear the crunch of tyres upon gravelly tarmac, or the slam of car doors, or the clapping of obnoxiously expensive shoes as men stamped towards him that would signify an end to his cold, miserable wait.

Instead, there was nothing. Wind whistled slightly, and somewhere above him derelict metal structures creaked despondently as the last fingers of daytime relinquished their hold on the horizon and night began to take over. A deep, midnight blue began spreading overhead like an inky stain, the glitter of stars beginning to prick through the abyss.

Mello leant against his wall, eyes shut, head back, listening almost contentedly to the background noises he had attuned himself to; the soft song of a sleeping city.

And then, suddenly, through the semi-darkness and almost-silence, a sneeze.

The noise was so abrupt – so close and human – that Mello snapped open his eyes and span instantly to face the bottom of an iron staircase that appeared to be the source of the interruption. His hands had flown automatically to the gun tucked into his tight, leather pants and now held it trained upon the shadowy figure of a person visible a few metres away.

Inwardly kicking himself for letting his guard down, Mello jerked his gun skywards, snarling, "Hands up." The silhouette complied, lifting thin arms high and waggling empty fingers in order to prove themselves not to be a threat. Mello prickled with adrenaline and took a step forwards, motioning with the pistol again as he barked, "Over here."

The remarkably calm shadow once again cooperated, almost arrogant in his – for it was now evident that the intruder was, indeed, male – obvious confidence that Mello would not shoot. The cockiness grated on Mello's pride and his trigger finger itched, jaw twitching anxiously. As the man sauntered into a garish pool of orange thrown into the alley by a nearby streetlight, Mello's tight, guarded stance slackened immediately, extended arms wilting, gun lowering.

Startlingly vivid crimson hair - even in the draining, artificial glow of a sodium bulb - stuck out chaotically from the man's head and lanced over a grinning face, a pair of goggles nestled deep in the vermillion mess. A cigarette hung nonchalantly from his slightly parted lips, tip burning brightly in the gloom, and the tendrils of smoke curling away from his mouth snaked their way towards the fast-appearing stars, dissipating into the night.

Mello scanned his wide eyes over the striped cotton t-shirt, the dark denim jeans, the heavy boots and the bizarre, furry, sleeveless jacket, an unconscious murmur of a noise tumbling from his mouth unbidden. He disguised it, badly, as a cough and blinked disbelievingly a few times before relaxing his position and sliding the gun back underneath the waistband of his pants, enjoying the thrill of his nerves as cold metal rubbed against warm skin. Leaning back onto the brick wall behind him, Mello crossed his legs disinterestedly and threw a mildly amused look at the smoking man.

"You always were crap at hiding, Matt."

******  
A review right now would be _much _appreciated XD**


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